


25

by gemothy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Canon, technically also post-canon for most of the events in Night Watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: A young corporal in the Night Watch gets a timely reminder of the past and an indeterminate number of free drinks. Originally posted some months ago for a Tumblr fic prompt, but today seemed like a good time to share it here.





	25

Sam Vimes took out a cigar and stood near the wall to light it, keeping the lit match out of the wind and rain. His shift had just finished and as much as he liked the work, it was always a relief to finish for the night, especially since he’d been promoted again. He’d made it as far as Corporal now, mostly thanks to being the only one at Treacle Mine Road with legible handwriting, and at this point he was really just looking forward to being Sergeant and making everyone else do the shit jobs. He leaned back against the wall, and immediately fell on his arse when the wall decided to move.

“My apologies,” it said. Sam blinked. If he’d been down the Broken Drum all evening perhaps he could have understood why he was imagining a walking, talking wall, but- ah. Yes, okay. A young man had materialised out of the gloom and held out a hand. Sam took it, and as the stranger pulled him up he noticed to his consternation that the man was significantly taller than he was- _just like half the bloody city,_ he thought.

“Thanks,” said Sam. Now that he was upright again he could see that the other man was an Assassin, with a capital A- a member of the Guild, all in black, with that haughty sort of expression they all seemed to wear. After a moment, however, the expression changed to one of curiosity, and something in the back of Sam’s mind started to poke at his conscious thoughts.

“Forgive me, officer,” said the Assassin. “I couldn’t help but wonder… You seem somewhat familiar- have I threatened you before?”

Sam snorted. “No.”

“Hm. Bribed you to look the other way, perhaps?”

“Definitely not.”

“Ah. Then perhaps-”

A carriage rolled past, the driver’s lamp shining on them both just long enough for both young men to spot the lilacs pinned to each other’s cloaks.

“It’s _you,_ ” said Sam. “You were that kid who kept following our sergeant round. I saw you stab an Unmentionable right in the- er- in the unmentionables.” He grinned, and the Assassin gave him a faint smile in return.

“I did indeed. Which means you must be Sergeant Keel’s other shadow- Sam, was it?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Well then, Sam, since we appear to be more or less on the same side- for tonight, at least- might I buy you a drink? Call it an apology if you like, or a toast to an absent friend.”

Sam thought for a moment. He had a pretty good instinct by now for when things were going to get hairy, and this, somehow, didn’t feel like any of the possible ways things could go horribly wrong. Besides, he could _really_ do with a drink- there was no harm in letting some toff pay for a change.

“Alright,” he said. “But I doubt either of us really wants to be seen in public with the other one. Tell you what, you get me a bottle of Bearhugger’s and I might let you come in out of the rain and share a bit.”

* * *

Later that night, they sat on the floor in Sam’s room, drinking cheap whiskey from the only two cups Sam owned, both of which were chipped and irreparably tea-stained. His new friend- if you could call him that- had warmed up considerably once he’d got a couple of drinks in him, and while Sam wasn’t sure if he entirely liked the man, at least he made good conversation.

“You haven’t even told me your name yet,” Sam said, trying to sound casual; he was aware that he could quite easily sound Like A Copper entirely by accident.

“Oh,” said the Assassin. “It’s Havelock.”

“…Right. No last name?”

Havelock pulled a face. “I’d rather not.”

“Bit unfortunate, is it?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“I mean, Havelock’s already quite bad.”

“Yes, thank you.” Havelock sighed. “I’m aware.”

They sat in gloomy silence until Sam said, “So what exactly were you doing hanging around out there anyway? You obviously don’t live round here.”

“Actually, I do. My aunt owns a house in Easy Street, I live there when I’m not needed at the Guild.”

“You might want to actually stay there then, instead of hanging around outside at night,” Sam said. “Posh lad like you, pretty face… people might get the wrong idea.” Havelock laughed and turned away, and it suddenly dawned on Sam exactly what he’d just said.

_Well, shit,_ he thought. _He_ is _pretty. No point having a reputation as the only honest watchman in town if I can’t even be honest with myself._

“You er… you alright there, mate?”

“Yes,” said Havelock, who promptly leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

In the morning, Sam woke to a horrible headache and an empty bed- but when he went to pick up his badge, he found it in the company of a single sprig of lilac.


End file.
